


The History of Mark Darcy, a Barrister: Deleted Smutty Scene

by S_Faith



Series: The History of Mark Darcy, a Barrister [2]
Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2019-11-28 15:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18210068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: A 'deleted scene' depicting that first night in Hintlesham Hall… which would have made the whole original storynotT / PG-13. Had to write it, but couldn't throw it away.





	The History of Mark Darcy, a Barrister: Deleted Smutty Scene

**Author's Note:**

> Ellipsis (…) indicates where new text begins and then ends. Original story can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18193706/chapters/43036589).
> 
> Disclaimer: If it weren't for the title, you wouldn't know who I even meant. Even still, they're not mine.

I could take it no longer. I reached and relieved her of her half-full glass, then reached for her. Emboldened by the day behind me (and perhaps the champagne within me), I bent and placed my lips on hers for a fleeting kiss. "Right, Bridget Jones, I'm going to give you pardon for," I said in a low tone.

I shall never forget the look on her face as I bent to sweep her up into my arms, then marched over to the bedroom area and set her down on the mattress. 

…

I sat beside her, cupped her face tenderly with my hand, then leaned towards her and sweetly kissed her.

My desire for her, however, built quickly, and—perhaps a little too aggressively—I kissed her with decidedly more passion, opening my mouth to take hers with some ferocity. I heard a soft sound come from her; her fingers threaded through my hair. I took her around the waist and pulled her close to me, pressed her against me. Quite without conscious thought my hand went to her knee and slipped up her thigh, under her skirt. When my fingers brushed against her bare skin—thus I became acquainted with the wonder of thigh-high stockings—I think we both gasped at the same time. She pulled back, meeting my gaze with not only surprise but want in her eyes. I wasted no time. I reached for the bottom of her jumper and pulled it over her head. Her hair fell back down into place on her shoulders, slightly haloing around her face with the static electricity. My eyes were drawn, however, to her chest. 

I had, of course, seen her at the picnic all done up as a tart. This, however, was different; her brassiere was of a loosely woven ecru lace that left barely a detail hidden from my eager eyes. My hands came up to touch her, to take her breasts in my palms. She closed her eyes. Her head tilted back and she exhaled. I placed my lips on her chin, then kissed her neck, ran my tongue along her throat as my thumbs pressed enthusiastically into her hardening nipples. I could feel her swallow and moan a bit beneath my ministrations.

My fingers came up and around the edge of the brassiere to the clasp in the front, which I endeavoured to open as I drew away from her. It took me a moment—I heard her breathing, punctuated by a small laugh—but then the two halves came away like a pair of doors. If I thought she looked beautiful before, thought her breasts were perfect before, that was nothing to now. I lowered my head, astonishing even myself as I held each in turn to kiss then draw the tip into my mouth, to graze it with my teeth, to savour rolling my tongue over the hard point. Her breath was unsteady, but she seemed quite pleased with my attentions.

In the midst of this I'd laid her back against the bed, and I drew back slightly to take in the sight of her in totality, her chest heaving, her eyes half-lidded in her repose. She was the picture of sensuality, and I wanted to see her, all of her. I reached for the button on the side of her tartan skirt, then undid the zip; she lifted her hips so that I could slide the skirt down. There were lace pants to match the brassiere and the tights with the lacy elastic tops. I brought my hand to her hip, played with the elastic there. She moaned again, then reached to tug on my own shirt at the lower arm. "Too many bloody buttons," she whispered. It reminded me that I was far too overdressed. 

My fingers trembled as I ran down the front of my shirt undoing those buttons, then I pulled off the shirt and threw it aside. I fumbled with my belt, slipped off my socks and vest; then off went my trousers and pants, which, when they did, revealed the extent of my desire for her.

Not that it was any big secret.

She pushed herself up onto the bed, then held out her hand towards me. I had one more task to accomplish and when I did, I then turned back to her, reached for the elastic of the pants. I tugged them down and she groaned as my fingers slipped down between her legs. I was a man crazed by lust; I know that now that my sense has been restored. I did not even bother with stripping off the tights; rather, their presence drove me even wilder.

My hand went round to her bottom, grasping it, pulling her towards me as I kissed her again. I wanted to touch every last bit of her as much as I wanted to have her as soon as possible. I stroked her breast again, her hip, her bottom and inner thigh before I turned myself over and on to her. Then I drove forward. I gasped, groaned and moaned as she cried out and raked her nails across my shoulders.

My enthusiasm was unmatched, my passion unbridled, and I buried my face into her throat as I thrust again and again. With each push forward, she pushed back, making the throatiest, sexiest sounds as she did. I was in a state of utter bliss, of complete ecstasy, but I was determined to satisfy her before surrendering completely to my own.

I braced myself onto my knees, then lifted her legs up and grasped her waist, took hold of her hips to settle her into position. This changed the angle slightly, and it had an immediately rewarding effect for both of us. I focused on her pleasure; I could just reach her breast with my mouth, and I found quite quickly that she seemed especially to like the gentle pressure of my teeth on her nipple in concert with each thrust. Her cries of pleasure escalated as I went faster and drove harder at her request. This effort paid off handsomely. She did not hold back when she came, crying unrestrainedly into my shoulder as I felt wave upon wave overtake her.

Then came my own release, which washed over me like both a surge of heat and a blast of chill; I felt myself trembling all over as I let out a protracted groan. I then gasped then took in air as I dropped down to the bed, drawing her over with me, determined to hold her close to me as long as I could.

I had not experienced such pleasure and satisfaction with a woman in the whole of my life. I could not find the words to express myself so instead, I kissed her again with a depth of tenderness equal to that of the passion I had just exercised.

When at last we broke apart, she smiled then said to me in a breathy voice: "I didn't know you had _that_ in you."

I am not sure exactly what my facial features had done, but the expression must not have been a positive one. She laughed lightly and traced a finger over my brow. "I only meant I never expected those staid suits to have been hiding… you know. _Multiples_."

It is only in hindsight that I understand exactly what she meant by that; in the moment, from the tone of her voice I took it to be a compliment, kissed her and held her to me.

…

When I kissed her again next, I don't think I stopped for a very, very long time.

_The end_


End file.
